


The Falling of Our Feet (It Sounds Like Drumming)

by rahcorvus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, ZenoHika Week, ZenoHika Week (Final Fantasy XIV), ZenoHika Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahcorvus/pseuds/rahcorvus
Summary: Oliza, the only daughter of Ishgard's House Obsidian, serves as the bloody hand of Halone and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn both.  It was only a matter of time before she clashed with the Garlean Empire's own living weapon -- the crown prince, Zenos yae Galvus.  Gods know they were a match made in the Seventh Hell.Written for ZenoHika Week 2020.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Oliza Obsidian, Zenos yae Galvus/Original Character(s), Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 10





	The Falling of Our Feet (It Sounds Like Drumming)

Oliza knelt before the altar, her black hair falling over her face as she bent her head in reverence. The stained glass behind it threw a cascade of colors over the stone statue perched at the top.

This statue of Halone varied slightly from most seen around the Holy See, and was a treasure safekept by House Obsidian for generations. The statue depicted the goddess with her shield resting in her left hand, and her right extended forward with her palm facing up, as if to offer succor to anyone who reached out to her.

The prayer room in her childhood home held many memories, most of which were thankfully pleasant. Her family had of course also visited Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral on many occasions, sometimes even in defiance against those who slung insults and threats toward their young Au Ra daughter. Oliza had not always understood what was happening in these events, only that she was seen as different, but her adoptive parents had always treated her with nothing but love and respect. Any knocks the girl had ever taken to her confidence were quickly eased by the care with which her family and their staff accorded her.

She heard the door open and close quietly, followed by the sound of heavy yet graceful footsteps pressing into the plush carpet. She smiled a little but did not turn her head; of course he would have come looking for her after waking to an empty bed.

“What are you doing?” came Zenos’s voice, low and almost soft, as if he knew this place was meant to be a quiet one despite never giving it more than a passing glance before.

“Praying,” Oliza replied simply, the smile on her face broadening. She knew the look Zenos would have on his face even without seeing it for herself -- his eyes narrowed slightly in thought despite the calm line his mouth kept in an otherwise neutral expression.

“I… have little experience with prayer,” Zenos admitted slowly, taking a tentative step toward Oliza and the altar. She nodded a little, finally tilting her head to look back at him.

“Come, sit with me,” she said, patting the space on the rug beside her. He took a moment before opening his mouth, though she cut him off before he could get his thought out. “I promise I’m not going to make you pray with me.”

The Garlean’s mouth snapped shut, and he snorted a little in bemused laughter. She had caught him in his hesitance; though he cared little for his homeland’s ceremonies, he could not help the smallest bit of apprehension that remained buried in his heart that insisted things like prayer and worship were no more than vehicles for the summoning of eikons.

He lowered himself to the floor slowly, opting to sit cross-legged. His broad shoulders and great height meant that he took up an enormous amount of space even while seated in such a fashion. Oliza’s golden eyes lit up as she watched him settle onto the rug. There was a certain sweetness to the gesture, and though she already knew the crown prince of Garlemald was more than happy to eschew his own family’s traditions, she couldn’t help but savor any moment where he stepped so far outside his own comfort zone for _her._

It was only when he lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair behind her horn that she realized she had been staring at him. He smirked a little and withdrew his hand, his clear blue eyes drifting to the statue on the altar.

“This is your goddess, then?” he asked, the curiosity in his voice overpowering what was left of his hesitation. “Halone?”

“Yes,” Oliza said, swallowing what she realized was her own nervousness. “She is the guardian deity of Ishgard, though there are of course others she watches over and who work with her in kind.”

“The larger statues in the city are different from this one,” Zenos mused, his quick mind easily putting the pieces together. “I presume the goddess your family prays to is more than just the Fury.” His eyes narrowed slightly and his forehead wrinkled. “To you, she’s not just a warrior. She’s charitable. Perhaps even merciful.”

“It’s true,” Oliza admitted, closing her eyes. There had been a time when she never would have looked away from the Garlean for an instant, so viciously had they torn at one another’s throats. But now, with the rainbows of light from the stained glass window playing softly over their features and the sound of the freshly stoked fire crackling from across the room, she felt at peace.

So it was that when he placed a hand over her own, she did not jump out of her skin. Rather, she turned her head to face him, opening her eyes to see a look of mischief playing across his features.

“It is no wonder, then, that you became a warrior of such exceptional strength and grace, so much so as to surpass even your role model,” Zenos said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No, no, you can’t say that!” she squealed, pulling up her free hand to cover the blush that was quickly spreading over her cheeks. “Especially not here!”

“That’s disrespectful, then?” Zenos shook his head, glancing up at the statue on the altar. He sighed softly before speaking again. “From what I’ve gleaned, you truly are a daughter of the Fury.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Oliza said, shifting the hand that he held so she could squeeze his fingers.

“I meant it as one. I think?”

Oliza chuckled at that. The day they had first met seemed so long ago now, but the memory burned in her mind as brightly as a newly lit candle.

She watched as the crown prince’s eyes passed over the stained glass, pensively taking in the light and the way it gently cast colors across the statue and the rest of the altar. His breathing was quiet yet steady, so comforting in its regularity that she was nearly lulled back to a state of relaxation just shy of slumber.

“Could you explain it to me?” Zenos asked simply, drawing Oliza’s attention back to his face. He peered down at her, his head cocked slightly to the side as he waited for a response.

“Hm?”

“Prayer. Could you explain it to me?”

“I-I don’t know if I’m the most qualified person to answer that question,” she murmured. Now it was her turn to hesitate. Zenos shook his head, squeezing her hand with a quiet fervor that sent tingles down the back of her neck.

“No, I want to know what it means to _you._ I’ve read enough musty texts to know the answer a priest would give me. I want to know why _you_ pray. What drives a Warrior of Light to bow her head to another in such a way?”

“Ah…” The intensity with which his blue eyes bored into her own golden ones made her blush once more, though this time she did not attempt to hide it.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words -- not to impress nor convince him, but to earnestly answer his plea for understanding.

“Prayer is a form of meditation. You know full well the desire for a quieted mind.” She didn’t need to open her eyes to know of the small nod he gave her. “For me, prayer is a way to join my thoughts to Halone’s own, to analyze things in more than just my own way. I can be hot-headed and brash, but she is always cool and calculating. She is an ice to temper my own fire.” Her eyes snapped open at her own words. “N-not that kind of tempering, of course!” She waved her free hand in front of her own face, as if to push away the negative connotations.

“I know, Oliza,” Zenos said, the firmness in his voice matching the grip with which he took hold of her other hand, making her turn where she sat to face him with her whole body. “As if my warrior’s mind could be broken so easily.” He squeezed both of her hands, so small in his own, brushing the dark scales covering her wrists with his thumbs.

The intensity with which he stared down at her face made her heartbeat quicken, and had he been anyone else she would have smacked his hands away to keep him from noticing. She knew he could sense it, but his expression did not change, neither softening nor hardening in response.

“You needn’t fret so. I know now you are no beast.” His gaze slid from her face back to the statue for a brief moment, but the fervor with which he held her hands did not fade. “Whatever power others may think the Fury holds over you, I believe you walk in her footsteps by your own volition.”

Oliza nodded, pulling one of her hands from his grip not to push him away, but to reach toward him. He allowed her this, his blue eyes sharp as a hawk’s as he watched her reach for his neck.

“You are thinking of Shinryu, then,” he said softly, tilting his jaw up and allowing his eyes to flutter closed as she traced the scar on his neck with her fingers.

“I am thinking of the ways in which one can wear a primal, or a deity,” she murmured, biting her lip as her fingertips brushed against the raised skin. “I have seen people summon such beings into themselves, just as I have seen them join themselves with those already formed. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder how different it is for me to ask Halone to lend me her strength, even if it’s just so I can put on a brave front.”

Zenos snorted, though he did not open his eyes.

“As if a warrior of your caliber could truly put up such a front.” He swallowed hard, the flesh of his throat shifting beneath Oliza’s fingers as he did so. “You are braver than you know, yet you carry yourself without an air of foolishness.” He opened his eyes to look down at her, the stiffness with which he usually held his shoulders easing as she withdrew her hand from his neck. “Besides, I know too well the feeling of wearing another’s face, be they mortal or god. A weaker spirit may fracture beneath the strain, but we both know you are made of stronger stuff.” An almost playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to charm me,” Oliza said with a smirk, giving him a firm poke to the chest.

“If _I_ didn’t know better I’d be wounded by that.”

“Would you?” she asked wryly, rising to her feet and giving his hand a small tug as she did so. “Come. I want breakfast.”

“As you wish, my warrior,” he replied, standing up beside her without releasing her hand. She gave the statue a parting nod before turning and dragging him to the door, to which he did not object. As they exited the prayer room, he glanced back at the figure of Halone, her hand outstretched in a fashion far too similar to how Oliza had once offered him her own for him _not_ to notice the resemblance. _As you wish._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've been very much looking forward to ZenoHika Week. My personal life has been very busy lately, which may prevent me from finishing all the further chapters within the week, but I wish to complete each of the prompts regardless! This work may just end up extending beyond the "official" week; we'll have to see.
> 
> Have a safe journey!


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